Sage winterwood's Arc

Chapter 20 of 29

The compass tugged at Sage's hand all morning. The needle wanted the far hills. But her feet stayed rooted in the garden. She looked at the forage plot, at the doe and the rabbits, at the rare plants she had fought so hard to grow. Every day she fed them with her own hands, drawing energy up through her palms. If she left for weeks, the plants would wilt and the herd would starve. The journey pulled one way. Her living garden pulled the other. Her fox trotted up with a sprig of green in its mouth. It set the sprig down and looked at her, head tilted. Sage knelt and stroked its soft fur. "You watered before," she said. "You and your quick paws." The fox flicked its ears. But watering was not enough. The fox could carry the can, yet it could not do what Sage did with her hands. It could not pull energy from the earth into the plants. Without that, the whole garden would fade before she returned. Water cupped and rippled behind her. Sage turned. Aquaria stood at the fence, her long dress moving like a slow current though the air was still. Her oldest friend had come at the worst moment, or the best. "You're leaving," Aquaria said. It was not a question. "And you're afraid the garden will die without you." "The fox can water," Sage said. "But I feed the plants with my own strength. No one else can hold that." Aquaria studied the ground. "Then don't hold it. Build something that does." She pressed her palm flat to the soil. "You channel energy through your hands. Grow something that channels it without you." Sage understood. She knelt and pushed both hands into the fresh earth. She reached down the way Aquaria had taught her, drawing power from soil and water at once. This time she did not send it into the grass. She shaped it upward into a single point. Wood rose under her fingers, twisting into a tall post. Green vines wrapped its trunk. Crystals broke through the bark and caught the light. Roots gripped the ground and pulled steadily, feeding the garden the way her hands had. Sage stood back, breathing hard. The totem glowed with a calm, even pulse. Around it the rare plants lifted their leaves. The forage stayed thick and green. It was working. "It holds a charge," Aquaria said, touching the wood. "Enough to last while you travel. But the crystals will dim. It will need refilling before they empty." "Then I'll fill it and go," Sage said. She poured the last of her drawn energy into the totem until its crystals burned bright. She fitted the fox with the watering can strap. "Water each morning," she told it. The fox barked once. Sage lifted her journal and let the needle swing free toward the hills. The garden could stand on its own now. She could finally leave.